


Never Just Fruit

by FandomTrashbag



Series: Pieces of Cake [5]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Counter Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Food, Mythology - Freeform, a little bit of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24514027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomTrashbag/pseuds/FandomTrashbag
Summary: Sarah sneaks off to get a snack and recieves a lesson in symbolism, instead.
Relationships: Jareth/Sarah Williams
Series: Pieces of Cake [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772494
Comments: 16
Kudos: 97





	Never Just Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> "So what's the symbology there?"  
> "[...]I'm sure the word you were looking for was "symbolism". What is the ssssymbolism there? Let me explain it to you."

In all the times she’d been here, which admittedly were only just now creeping into the double-digits, she never really ventured to the kitchen. She wasn’t even sure she could find it, if she was being honest. It was finally time for her sleepless nature to tap into her tendency to wander until she found it.

The halls were silent, the only sound was flames flickering over candles that never seemed to melt down too far and her bare feet shuffling across the cool stone; her toes were cold, but she loved the sensation. She cautiously peeked around the corner through a doorway and finally found it, feeling her stomach rumble just a little at the sight. For such a magical place, it certainly seemed a touch modern. Though, she couldn’t decide why she assumed the place would be more medieval than anything. Too much time with dated fairy tales, she supposed.

There were two sets of double sinks with brass faucets, one still with a few pots and pans stacked next to it. They were large and trough-like, no doubt made to fit the messes goblins created so often, and she even noticed little stools tucked under the brass basins for shorter creatures to use. The open pantry was massive and she perused it, quickly grabbing at some bread ends stashed in the corner. While there was a kind of fridge, it was more like an oversized ice box and only used to store that which absolutely needed the cold; most of the fruits were left out at room temperature and a lot of the meats were used fresh. Pots, pans, and skillets hung on the walls and from a rack suspended from the ceiling. Tools for butchering shone darkly in the low, warm light, stuck to the walls in racks. Wooden vases held more wooden utensils: serving forks, spoons, ladles, something that resembled a spatula. All the basics were there, and she imagined any chef would be able to craft a masterpiece here. One would never know it was kept and run by mischievous goblins and fairies.

A thick slab of marble over a wooden frame served as an island in the center of the room. It drew her attention and she set her little bag of bread ends down, pulling a cutting board to her and picking through the large bowl of fruit left out at its center. Plenty of the foods resembled that of her own world and she wondered if that was on purpose. She smiled to herself as she picked strawberries out of the bowl, along with an apple and an orange. While it took little effort to locate a suitable knife for cutting everything, it took quite a bit more effort to open the heavy icebox door. She cringed a little as the hinges squeaked in protest. 

“Ah-hah!” she whispered triumphantly after finding a small block of cheese. A small, middle of the night charcuterie sounded just about perfect.

She quickly lost herself, humming tiredly as she sliced and cored her apple, munching on a piece as she went along. She laid all her pieces out neatly as she finished with each one, focused entirely on making a little presentation of it. There was a pretty row of thin apple slices, cheese, the delicately peeled and sectioned orange, more cheese. She was carefully slicing the tops off of each strawberry when the air behind her became warmer.

“You know, _that_ cheese pairs wonderfully with _this_ wine,” his voice purred softly next to her ear as his arm snaked from behind her to set a stemless goblet down in the pool of light next to her board.

She paused her cutting to smirk just a little. His fingers trailed from the glass across the marble top and plucked one of her berries from the center of the neatly-laid line she’d made. He raised it in the light, examining it from his position at her shoulder silently. He straightened, then looked down at her as he brought it to his mouth. “Strawberries, Sarah? What a cliche choice for seduction.” He popped the small fruit between his teeth and chuckled as he chewed at the unamused look on her face.

“Need I remind you, Goblin King,” she said flatly, “that I am the one holding a knife?” She brought it up to wave it in front of him with mock menace. 

He stilled her with a hand around her wrist and leaned closer. She held her breath as his tongue darted out between pointed teeth and licked the remnants of fruit juice from the side of the blade, the pupils of his eyes almost matched for size in the low light. Somewhere in her mind she finally, firmly, decided they were a cool hazel. Grinning devilishly, he placed a firm kiss on the inside of her wrist before moving to settle across from her on the other side of the island. He leaned his weight on his forearms casually, keeping within easy reach of the artfully-arranged snack as she finished rearranging the rest of the berries.

“I was just hungry,” she mumbled, pushing the board towards the center between them as she mirrored his stance and plucked a piece of cheese.

“And sleepless. Again,” he countered.

“Something you seem to have few issues with, considering you were deep in it when I got up.” She raised the glass to smell the wine he’d provided, noticing another glass now rested between his clasped hands.

He didn’t argue; he often slept quite easily. “Your absence never goes unnoticed, precious.” His look was serious, almost chiding, and she blushed a little. “I don’t think we need to address your refusal to let me help you in the matter.”

Her eyebrows rose and fell in agreement as she took a slow drink and savored the taste of dark cherry notes. The taste did mix well with the sharp tang of the cheese on her tongue. Dammit.

“Like I said,” she sighed. “I was hungry. No seduction intended.” She shrugged and ate a slice of orange.

“Yes, well,” he said looking carefully down at her selection of fruits. “Your choices speak for themselves, honestly.”

Her dark brows drew together. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

“Really, Sarah. As someone who writes fiction for a living, I assumed you’d be more versed. And as someone who spends occasional nights in a place full of magic and _myth_ …” he trailed off, gesturing to their general location in the Underground.

She tipped her head to the side in thought. “Well, food is always symbolic of something. Especially fruit, but it’s not always meaningful.” She started to comb through the information in her head to see a connection and shrugged again. “Sometimes a fruit is just a fruit.”

“Hardly.” He picked up an orange slice and held it up. “These are the most innocuous, to be sure. Symbols for good fortune, most commonly. Though many mortal cultures see them as most flowering fruits: fertility. The blossoms are common in some wedding ceremonies, you know.” He picked up a piece of cheese and ate them together, just watching her in the light.

She shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Nope. For you, children are ammo. I’ve managed to squarely avoid that with you.”

“That is one lesson I certainly learned many years ago, Sarah. Children would certainly be safe where you are concerned.” The unspoken “ _our_ ” hung heavy for a moment as they stared at each other.

He picked up another strawberry and displayed it atop his fingertips for her. “‘Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God never did.’” He paused, tilting his head to the side as he watched her during this little twilight education. “Elves, and other fae, love strawberries. We have them thanks to mortal offerings for healthy cattle.” He set that one aside and dug lightly through the bowl on the counter as he continued. “Their resemblance to a symbolic heart has pegged them as one for your pagan goddess Venus.”

She ate another piece of cheese, happy to contribute this time. “Shakespeare used it as a pretty pointed metaphor for virginity. We both know that ship has sailed,” she scoffed. She watched him find a double strawberry and cut off its top, then half it at where the fruit had tried to split in two, proffering her a piece. She took it with a look of curious skepticism on her face. He didn’t continue until they took a bite of each half together.

“Legends say that sharing a doubled fruit means the participants will fall in love,” he said pointedly, smirking when her eyes narrowed at him.

She picked up an apple slice and ate it, challenging him. “Are you going to regale me with stories of Eve and the Fall of Man, next?”

His laughter was soft and genuine, though there was a twinkle in his eye. “Hardly,” he dismissed, eating a piece himself with another slice of cheese. “Besides, that was a pomegranate: a fruit that has always proven successful in temptation. It’s a binding one. After all, it sealed Proserpina’s promises.”

“I’m afraid to ask what history lesson I’m about to get.” While it was pleasant to listen to, she was having a hard time figuring out where this might be going. Despite years of secret meetings, dalliances, and getting to know one another (without the fate of lives hanging), she found he was still difficult to read sometimes. She’d learned a fair amount about culture in this world, thanks to his careful and willing education, and did not discount the importance of food. She’d had just over two decades of conversations about everything, but mostly nothing. They’d gotten to know each other properly, as individuals, and he was a near-constant as she grew into the middle-aged adult she was now.

There was a certainty that, since her return from this place as an impulsive, bitter teenager, she truly regretted nothing. Not even the sleep anxiety and strange dreams she’d inherited as a result. What she was _not_ certain of, was where things were going to go. When all this started years ago, she put up boundaries that he never so much as questioned. She only got older, and while she certainly didn’t age _poorly_ , she was not ignorant to the fact that he had changed very little.

The tightness in his eyes had faded over time, and she liked to think that he smiled more often; perhaps he was even a touch more lenient in his rule, though she was fairly sure few people saw the same softness in him that she’d been granted. He was a king, and he did have to rule. Even here, in his castle kitchen at 2AM wearing nothing but some black satin sleep pants and talking about food, he seemed imposing. Armor and theatrics were not necessary, but simply a tool he wielded. Seeing him stripped of those things was a luxury she could appreciate.

These, and a million other thoughts raced through her mind in the space of a moment, the time it took for him to finish his mouthful. She straightened her stance, bracing her arms wide with her hands along the edge of the table top, the open neckline of the shirt she wore gaping just a little as her shoulders squared. She felt his toes reach out absently and drag gently along her shin under the island.

“Apples are forever, really,” he began. “I think my favorite of your stories has to be the Apple of Discord. A golden apple laid in front of a prince forced to make a decision that would end poorly no matter how he chose. They are also symbols of peace -- a little ironic, considering -- joy, youthfulness. They kept the Norse gods young, and Juno’s orchard could heal the sick. An overall miracle fruit, really. Most common apple trees require a mate to fruit, however.”

She took another long drink of her wine, trying to see if there was a connection to be made.

He took a deep breath to sigh casually through his nose, a sure signal that story time was done. “So, you see. Good fortune and marriage, love, and eternal youth. One could read into your midnight snack, if they so choose.”

She made pointed eye contact as she ate another piece of apple, slowly, with an eyebrow raised in a kind of defiance to his storytelling. “Still. Just. Hungry.”

He laughed softly. “You’ll forgive me for thinking otherwise. It’s not often I have an attractive woman in my kitchen in the middle of the night.” He wiggled an index finger at her for emphasis as he took a drink from his own glass.

“So you _do_ keep other women around,” she laughed quietly through her nose as she finished her glass.

“Just not attractive ones,” he said with mock-seriousness. “Certainly no blasted humans.”

They both smiled with mirth, but he saw her eyes shift. “Young elves running amok, perhaps.” She was trying hard to jest, though he watched her shoulders roll uncomfortably.

He came back around to her side. “Regardless of what they may be, they certainly do not have the privilege of being clad in only my shirt.” His fingers trailed up the skin exposed by the low, open neck of the thin, billowy top. Nails grazed her unprotected flesh just above her belly button, ran up across the arch of her ribs just below her breasts, and between them. His large hand splayed across her chest with fingertips curving over her clavicle, feeling her heartbeat through his palm and holding it there firmly. His other hand crooked under her chin and gently lifted her attention to him. “They, most definitely, do not share my bed.”

Her breath hitched a little, very conscious of his hand planted over her heart as he circled around to place himself close behind her. Feeling him melt along her made her heart beat a little faster and she felt his hand flex at the change of pace. His free hand danced down her left arm over the sleeve of the pale linen until it lay atop hers bracing on the counter. She could feel him pressing into her gradually, pushing her against the stone.

“You underestimate your worth,” he whispered into her ear. She felt his fingers thread between hers gently.

Before she could argue, he shoved his hips forward, grinding her against the side of the cool marble. Her head dropped forward and her mouth opened in a silent wave of sensation. As his hips rolled, rocking her along the hard surface, her body tried to bob across the tabletop, but could only move so far in her caged position. His hand on her chest kept them together and so he bowed with her. He delighted in the jump of her heart beneath his palm when she sucked in deep breath.

She keenly felt both of their building arousals, then his mouth on the back of her neck. While she felt his lips moving and the rumble of sound through his chest, she couldn’t focus on what he said. All she had room for was his hand on hers, her deathgrip on the countertop, and his continued motions mashing her pelvis. Her toes started to curl and she even started to move with him.

“A fruit is never _just_ a fruit, precious,” he purred. He kissed and licked along her neck, biting gently at her trapezius, pushing just a bit harder.

Her head came up and she let out a slow moan, her body starting to thrum with a growing tension. Already, her skin was flushing and her breathing came in shallower gasps. He loved the rosy tint she gained as he continued to build her up. He left an open-mouth kiss on her jaw below her ear.

She bit her bottom lip and squeezed her eyes shut as she leaned herself into his body and his movements; she gave in as she felt her pleasure starting to peak. His mouth felt hot on her skin.

“You forget,” he licked along the shell of her ear. “For no one knew the king of the goblins had fallen in love with the girl, and he had given her certain powers.” He spoke tenderly, soothing.

As the knot in her abdomen grew painfully tight, she turned her head and he immediately slanted his mouth over hers. Suddenly, she smelled peaches. This was bruising and deep. He sucked at her bottom lip before tangling his tongue with hers and kissing her more thoroughly than he ever had. There had always been passion, but now there was something _more_ , something _complete_ . Her eyes flew open as her body clenched in release, and in her muffled gasp, as he tasted her, she _tasted_ peaches. He kept his hold across her chest as she rode through small spasms of orgasm, never stopping their hungry kiss. His hand felt like it melted through her flesh to caress her hammering heart and she accepted it. She drowned a little in his kiss, the sensations sliding through her like a honeyed ambrosia.

Several long moments passed as her breathing slowly returned to normal and their kisses became slower, softer. Eventually, he brought their laced hands to wrap around her waist and pressed his forehead to hers gently.

“What was that?” she whispered.

“You really need to ask?” He kept his voice low, but there was an incredulity to his tone.

She pulled back a hair to narrow her eyes at him. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”

He laughed softly but deeply, genuine happiness rolling through his chest. His hand on her chest rubbed briefly before falling down to rest on the swell of her hip. He laid a lingering kiss on the end of her nose. “Magic, precious. Nothing more.”

She looked at him thoughtfully, feeling a new weight above her breast.

He moved her hips and turned them bodily toward the kitchen entryway, nudging her forward with just a playful bump of his pelvis.

“Now,” he said with a sigh. “Let us get you back to bed and see how you sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same reality of "The Death of Each Day's Life," but just a different snippet of their relationship.
> 
> I don't know why this popped into my head, but it did, so here you go. I study art history (in the periphery of my major education) and love classical and Renaissance art and finding the iconography in imagery. Understanding the meaning behind the iconography requires an interest in it, and mythology is another thing I really enjoy. Gosh, I just really love playing with symbolism.
> 
> Jareth uses Roman names for the pantheon because of my preference. I love classics, and will always admit that everything the Romans had was because they stole it from the Greeks; the former was just better at naming things. For those that don’t know, Proserpina/Pluto are the Roman names for Persephone/Hades, Juno is Hera.
> 
> The strawberry quote is from Dr. William Butler, a 17th c medic, and quoted in Isaac Walton’s "The Compleat Angler"


End file.
